


born to run

by Muir_Wolf



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009), Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/pseuds/Muir_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She goes to the future, he doesn't catch her, she steals things, he doesn't follow orders, they don't love each other, they don't stop running.</p>
            </blockquote>





	born to run

There’s always a way out.

She knows this, she’s believed in it her entire life, it’s as close to a truth as she’s willing to believe.

Her name, her clothes, her hair, her history, they all can change in a moment, twist themselves into something they aren’t (weren’t), but wherever she runs (wind in her hair, on her back) she knows there’s always a way out.

When her back is to the wall (she can feel the rough scratch of stone against her fingertips as she inhales / exhales / inhales / exhales) she closes her eyes. She’s carried around the little metal ball for years, and now (gun to her head, eyes shut) she presses the catch, and when it cracks open in her palms, she presses the button.

There’s a flash of _whitewhitewhite_ and then—

Nothing.

 

./.

 

That's how it goes.

She’s somewhere and then she’s nowhere, it’s not all that complicated.

White white light, and then nothing.

And then?

 

./.

 

If he were anybody else, he’d probably be a little tired of getting the shit beat out of him on a seemingly daily basis, and considering his position, it really is ridiculous how very often he’s wiping blood from a split lip before launching himself back into the fray.

Truth be told, though, he kinda likes the thrill, and given that he’s given up bar fights for what little shreds of dignity he can scrape up and pass off as befitting a Starfleet Captain, it’s a decent enough excuse (at least in his mind, not necessarily in Starfleet’s).

So he’s in the middle of a fight (brawl) on some shit-tastic backass planet, and then there’s a low hum and a bright flash and a girl appears from out of nowhere and half-falls into his arms. He’s got the smile and charm turned on by rote, so he’s caught her and is grinning down at her when he feels the sharp prick of a knife against his throat.

“Not so fast, big boy,” she says, a cool Earth-American accent sliding along his skin, and despite the danger (or because of it) he keeps on grinning.

“Just helping a lady out,” he says, smooth as can be. Her eyebrow inches up icily.

“This is one lady who doesn’t need your help,” she says, finding her feet and slipping something (he catches a glimpse of something round and metallic) back into her handbag. And then her lips quirk up as she gets maybe her first good look at him, and sure, he might be bloody as hell, shirt torn, but he knows for a fact that he looks good bloody as hell and shirt torn.

“As you want,” he smirks, and that – oh _that_ piques her interest, he can tell, so he steps back, lets her go, and starts to move away. (He’s in the middle of a fight, here, anyway, he’s got men who’re counting on him having their back).

“Aren’t you going to give me your name?” she calls after him, and he pulls up to a stop, fighting back a grin before turning back to her.

“Kirk,” he says. “James Kirk.”

He doesn’t mention his rank, his credentials. He doesn’t think she’d be all that impressed. And his name – well, it might be known to some people, but he doesn’t quite think she’s from around here.

She nods easily, and then turns, and before he can ask her her name something smacks him in the back of the head and _ohshit—_

Blackout.

 

./.

 

Seven weeks later, he’s introduced to the fiancée of the King of Arrist (aka some huge fricking planet with Things Starfleet Wants To Trade For).

It’s not her, of course, it can’t be her, that was seven weeks and a bazillion light years away, and he had half of a concussion anyway, and the fact that she’s grinning at him as if she knows something…

Well.

They share a drink after the festivities.

Then there’s a minor fracas when someone tries to overthrow the government.

So. Another day in the life.

When everything settles down, she’s gone, and there’s a slip of paper in his pocket. (Paper? Really?)

 _Nice catching up._

 

./.

 

When he hears about a Pirate Queen he has…well, let’s call it a hunch.

She gets caught, in that vague sense that he’s got security teams all over her base, and he’s down there, too, and there’s no possible way of getting off the planet, they’ve done the scans, there’s no way—

The lights go out, and he feels warm lips press against his before the lipstick kicks in and knocks him out.

They never do find out where she’d hid that shuttlecraft.

And, of course, they couldn’t pursue what with landing parties needing to be beamed out, given the failing airlocks all over the base.

(They turned out to be false alarms, every one of them, which he would’ve bet his life on if he’d not been unconscious. Which probably was why he was.)

 

./.

 

They sleep together in the Diamond Caverns of Croxxtek. They’re on the run from Klingons and hell knows what else, teamed together in a questionable alliance, and she’s all demure seduction and he’s blatant flirting and it doesn’t take much for them to dive into reckless and stupid and thrilling and _want._

This time he leaves first.

 _You’d hate me for being sentimental,_ she finds when she wakes up.

(Not that she didn’t have a back-up plan. Not that he wouldn’t have known she would. Not that he shouldn't have tried to take her in, anyway.)

He never does tell Spock that. (Bones guesses right away.)

 

./.

 

She collects rare books. Specific rare books.

She collects first editions and runs her fingers along the edges of pages, wonders if anyone she knows had ever touched them, so very long ago.

Some she buys, some she steals.

It's a different time, different technology, but it doesn’t take her too long to figure it all out. Human (or even alien) instinct hasn't changed all that much.

It’s the one thing she allows herself to be sentimental about, these books, written under a pseudonym so very long ago by such a dear…friend? Enemy? Silly to think of them in such terms, now.

Opponent, perhaps. _Beloved opponent,_ she thinks, and smiles a little.

 

./.

 

She doesn’t kill him when she's ordered to. Not that she’s one for killing, but she’s a phaser in her hand and a phaser set to kill behind her and it makes more sense to not take chances. Oh, she’s fast, and she’s good, and she manages to stun Kirk and get away with her life (and get away with his) but it's a stupid risk to take.

Stupid.

The _Enterprise_ comes across a buoy not long afterwards.

 _Mention what I did and I_ will _kill you._

He laughs when Uhura reads it aloud on the bridge.

 

./.

 

His phaser in his hand, her smile too brilliant for the atmosphere as she ties her hair back, jaunty and amused.

“I should take you in,” he says, and he means it – for all he flounces Starfleet, he believes in his duty. She rolls her eyes at him.

“Forcefield,” she says, waving her elbow (and she’s once again dressed as a pirate, and hell he wants to go down on her, wipe that smirk off her face, leave her shuddering against his body). “I told you once, Kirk. I don’t need to be saved.”

“James,” he corrects. There’s something like relief in his voice (he would do his duty, this time, if she’d forced the choice, she knows he would have).

Maybe because of the relief, maybe because of the book in her hand (sealed against the atmosphere, first edition, _A Scandal in Bohemia_ ) she smiles back at him.

“Irene,” she says, and then, with a mock-salute, she slips into her shuttle, and she’s—

 

./.

 

(she never did like staying in one place long)

 

  
_...Finis..._   



End file.
